Song In My Heart
by Louder Than Words 354
Summary: Roger is Mark's saving grace as heroin addiction wears away. But one man can't save everyone. Sequel to Walk Beside Me. M for mature themes and language.
1. Chapter 1: You Were the Song All Along

**To All Our Dearly Beloved Readers,**

**Firstly, we can never thank you all enough for your continued support of this series! This fic will be quite short and will be followed by another sequel (which will be far longer). This fic is just a bridge between "Walk Beside Me" and the next fic to be entitled "Divide Your Sorrows". Thank you again! Enjoy!**

Chapter One

"You Were the Song All Along"

Roger

Time was fickle, and withdrawal inconsistent.

Night was creeping in, slipping around the corners of buildings and coating the windows. The street lights were clicking on one by one, making patches of the deep violet sky appear blue.

Roger leaned his head against the window. The bruise spreading across his eye and cheekbone matched the colors of the night perfectly.

It was so strange to see the world through different eyes: Mark's eyes. Years ago, he had been in Mark's place, lying in the other room, finally having collapsed out of utter exhaustion.

When he had gone through withdrawal, he remembered that he had no sense of time. But now, each moment was counted, he was keeping perfect track of how long it had been since Mark had last cried out in his dreams. He recalled how many minutes since Mark had screamed at him, and how much time had passed since Mark had fallen into his arms, crying.

Withdrawal was a two edged sword. One edge was stronger, more hardened, and the only side that was expected. The pain and the anger ripped the body apart from the inside, but the vulnerability and the desire for love, came as the second stroke.

Roger lifted his guitar. He trailed his fingers over the strings gently so the notes were soft and would not wake Mark.

Vulnerability, pain, anger, and love, these are the things he poured into the song and out of his heart.

--

* * *

Mark was shaking.

Roger pressed his hand to Mark's cheek. "Mark, stay with me."

His eyes were wide and unseeing, but his lips were moving gently and his voice cracked as he sang. "Consider this: the hint of the century. Consider this: the slip that brought me to my knees failed."

"Mark, can you hear me?" Roger asked.

Mark just kept singing. "What if all these fantasies come flailing around me? Now I've said too much."

Mark's voice was raw. Hours of screaming had taken his voice away and left him with the voice of a stranger.

Roger set the water glass down and was about to leave Mark to his delusions when the other man started screaming.

"Don't touch me! Don't touch me! Please! Stop! Stop! Roger! Roger! Roger! Help me! Don't touch me!"

Roger whirled and raced back to the bed. He pressed his hands on Mark's shoulders to keep the other man from hurting himself.

"STOP! DON'T!"

"Mark!" Roger shouted, trying to make his voice heard above Mark's screaming. "Mark! Listen to me!! I'm here! I'm here!"

Mark thrashed and he struck out blindly at the phantoms which swam in front of his eyes.

"It hurts! Please! Stop! No more! I'll tell you whatever you want. Just please stop hurting me!"

"Mark! You're in the loft. No one's hurting you. You're safe."

Mark's eyes fluttered and his eyes fixed on Roger's face. Pure terror split his face in two with a terrible cry

"I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!"

"Mark, it's Roger!" Mark was stronger than he thought and he was having trouble keeping him down.

"I HATE YOU!" He screamed and shoved Roger off of him.

Roger flew back, before he could catch hold of Mark's hands, Mark managed to slam his fist into Roger's eye. Roger bit his lip. He wasn't about to react in anger. He knew that Mark hadn't meant to hurt him. Roger was just part of the hallucination.

"I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!"

"It's Roger!" He screamed and grabbed Mark's wrist before he could punch him again.

Mark's fit stopped as suddenly as it had started.

"Mark?" Roger asked and gently released the pressure on Mark's arms. "Mark? Can you hear me?"

"Roger?" Mark asked, taking deep, rattling breaths.

"Yes. Yes. It's Roger." Roger took Mark's hand in his and squeezed it tightly.

"I can't do this." Mark whispered. "I can't do this. Please. Please. I need the heroin. Please."

Roger bit his lip.

For one whole second he actually considered it. If it would relieve Mark's pain….

Roger hushed him. "You don't need it, Mark. You'll be alright without it, I promise." Roger brushed the hair from Mark's forehead.

Mark reached up and clasped Roger's hand. "Promise?"

"Yes. I did it, right? And you've always been stronger than I was."

Roger sat beside him until Mark slid back into sleep. Mark never said anything more, except to sing another line of the song, "Now I've said too much", and then he was lost in dreams.

"I thought that I heard you laughing. I thought that I heard you sing. I think I thought I saw you try." Roger finished for him.

--

* * *

The city lights were glimmering softly when Roger opened his eyes. His right eye was completely swollen shut and it gave the world a soft, hazy appearance. He couldn't quite tell what had awoken him. He was so exhausted that he should've stayed asleep for several more hours.

"Roger?" Mark's voice sounded almost normal. "Roger? Are you awake?

"Yeah. What's up?"

"I can't find him." Mark said, and Roger wondered for a moment if Mark was a child looking for a lost stuffed animal.

"Can't find who?"

"Me." Silence stretches between them. "I don't know who I am anymore, Roger. I want to stop wanting it. I want to just stop hurting. I'm lost."

Roger stood up. He opened his arms and Mark fell into them and sobbed. "You're still in there Mark. You'll remember. Give it time." Roger rubs small circles across Mark's back as he whispers comforting words into his ear.

Time is fickle.

Roger knows that he's lying. Mark will have to spend months to truly remember what it's like to live life without heroin. Once you've been an addict, you can't go back to being a normal human being. You've tasted your own destruction and whenever things go wrong, you think how easy it would be if you could just have the drugs back.

But for right now, he knows that the lie is necessary. He can't tell Mark that he still thinks about heroin from time to time. Roger bites back the words that he can't say, and just continues keeping Mark safe here in his arms.

If he holds Mark for long enough, maybe all the lies will become true, and maybe all the pain will go away.

They stood like that near an hour until Mark fell asleep standing up and Roger had to help him back to bed.

It wasn't until Roger went to lift his guitar that he realized that he was clutching Mark's scarf in his hand. He didn't remember picking it up; Mark must have pressed it into his hands.

Roger wrapped the scarf around his neck and smiled softly. He picked up his guitar again and began to play. This time he hoped that the notes might slide into Mark's dreams and soothe him.

The song wasn't one that he'd never played before, and he made it up as he went along. The notes rippled in a way he could never have predicted, and he felt such an ache in the melody that tears started to slip from his eyes.

Roger stopped playing partway through a phrase. There was no resolution at the end of the line, but he didn't want finish it.

It was Mark's song, and the rest remained unwritten.

--

**Oh, another note, the song lyrics in this chapter are from the song "Losing My Religion" R.E.M., we found it appropriate to include them as it was the song with which Anthony Rapp auditioned for RENT. So just to note, these lyrics are not our property and we lovely hand the credit back to R.E.M. for their brilliance.**

**Now. Review??**


	2. Chapter 2: For Once I Didn't Disengage

**Hey everyone! Thanks for reviewing! **

**We noticed that a lot of people commented on the song "Losing My Religion". If you want to hear Anthony Rapp sing this song, GO TO OUR PROFILE PAGE and follow the "homepage" link at the top of the page. We tried to post the url here, but fanfiction kept deleting parts of it. **

**It's one of the most beautiful things you'll ever hear Anthony sing.**

Chapter 2

"For Once I Didn't Disengage"

Mark

The last night.

Mark didn't know it at the time, but it would be the last horrible night, the last thrashing night, the last night of yearning hopeless enough to drive a man to madness.

He was cowered in a corner of the universe and at the same time the focus of the world. Only Mark existed, and Mark's existence was determined by heroin.

But he had to try.

Because every time he was a thread away from total loss, there were Roger's eyes, hovering in front of him. There were Roger's arms, never tiring of holding him. Other faces existed too; Mimi and Collins were there, holding Mark close on the couch as he screamed and cried and sweated.

One last night.

He rode it out on the floor by the window ledge. He gripped the ledge with all his might, digging his forehead into wall while Roger whispered soothing words in his ear.

_I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. _

_Stay with me, Mark. _

Mark reached out and groped blindly for Roger's hand. Finally, he found it. He held on for dear life, for a shred of his waning identity. His world blinked on and off as he searched distantly for Roger's eyes.

_I don't know if I can do this. This is so much bigger than me. _

The last thing Mark heard before falling into his last withdrawal-exhausted sleep was the sound of his friends' voices.

"I think it's over, man."

"Over? It's not over, Collins. But the worst is over."

_The worst is over._

--

_One Week Later_

Mark sat on the edge of the couch, holding a cup of cheap coffee that tasted like cardboard. It warmed him, though, and as he looked out the window, he was thankful for it. Roger was stretched out, taking up the rest of the couch.

"How're you feeling?" asked Roger lazily, throwing his arm out to the coffee table in an attempt to locate his own mug.

Mark smiled. It was a soft, sad smile, but a smile all the same. "Well, Roger…I'm doing _so _much better than I was three minutes ago, when you last asked me."

"Sorry," said Roger with a laugh. "I'm disoriented. I can't think straight and our coffee tastes like dog shit."

Mark looked into the dark brown liquid and suddenly lost all taste for it. He set it down on the table. "Thanks."

"Why the hell is no one here? They were supposed to come over what, six hours ago?"

"Yeah. Which left us here drinking coffee for six hours."

"Not coffee. Dog shit."

"Dog shit," Mark agreed.

They stayed silent for a while, drinking in the calm.

Finally, Mark spoke. As the words came out, his eyes drifted all over the loft, taking in every last corner of it as a filmmaker's gaze often does.

"It's almost normal again, isn't it?"

Roger nestled deeper into the couch, content. "Yeah, it is. It's nice."

"You know, we're probably the only best friends who have both been on either end of withdrawal."

"And gone through it with each other both times."

"Yeah. We're something else, aren't we?"

"That's right. We're freaks."

They both laughed. It was ok to laugh about it now; Mark never felt afraid when he was talking to Roger about withdrawal. He never had to. It was like a storm that had passed between them, and they had both survived twice. At this point, it was something they could laugh about—only with each other—even though the darkness of it was something that could never be forgotten.

Now that Mark had his sanity back, he appreciated his life more every day. He appreciated being able to go for minutes, hours at a time without thinking of heroin or getting high. He appreciated being able to film things again. He appreciated being able to see the beauty of the world around him, the subtlety of light, the sweet vision of a smile. All those things had been lost to him in the D.C. underworld.

But mostly, he had missed out on this. Lounging casually with Roger. Roger, who had been so much more than a casual friend over the past weeks.

Mark watched him now. He seemed so tired, but so peaceful. He didn't look like someone who had been a heroin addict's solid ground during the withdrawal process.

_It's just what best friends do. _

Looking back, it hadn't been a spectacular feat to see Roger through withdrawal. It had nearly killed Mark to do it, but he had never questioned the necessity of being there. And afterwards, it had been just like this: the calm following the storm.

Every now and then, they looked at one another and just shared a smile. Moments like that didn't require words. They were born out of the bond these two men shared, one of the deepest bonds ever created.

Mark and Roger shared such a moment now. Just as their smiles faded, a knock came at the door.

"You get it," said Roger. "I don't want to get up."

"You get it. I just went through withdrawal."

"You know, that gets real old after awhile. I used it for about six months before it expired."

Mark laughed and dragged himself to the door. He pulled it open to reveal Mimi's bright eyes—tired eyes, though, their usual shine diluted—and Maureen and Joanne behind her.

He was immediately caught up in a tight hug. "How are you feeling, sweetie?" asked Mimi softly, holding him close and giving him a light peck on the cheek.

Mark returned the gesture and the two pulled apart. "I'm a lot better, Mimi," he said gratefully.

She looked past him, straining her neck. "Is that my lazy ass boyfriend on the couch?"

"You like my ass," called Roger defensively, still not bothering to move.

Mimi rolled her eyes and made her way over to the couch. Mark received sweet, enthusiastic greetings from Maureen and Joanne, then led them into the loft as well.

As they all settled onto the couches, though—Mimi had forced Roger to sit up and make room for them all—Mark realized what was missing.

"Where's Collins?" he asked.

A moment of hesitation passed over Mimi's face, replaced too quickly by a smile. "Collins was feeling a bit peaky this morning," she replied.

"That's why we were so late," chimed in Maureen. "We had to take care of him. He still wanted to come, so we had to restrain him and knock him out."

"Maureen!" scolded Joanne. "That isn't funny!"

Maureen responded by planting an intense, amorous kiss on her lover's lips. It only took Joanne a moment to respond with the same eagerness. It only took Mark a moment to realize he was staring.

He tore his gaze away to find Mimi and Roger whispering soft words to each other, hand in hand, eyes locked adoringly.

_How is it that, after all this time, this can still make me feel alone?_

Mark cleared his throat awkwardly. The two pairs of lovers pulled away from each other, looking embarrassed as they offered Mark apologetic smiles.

_I wish Collins were here. _

"Oh!" Maureen, who was sitting in between Mark and Joanne, reached down into an obnoxiously large, multi-colored purse she had brought along. "I brought something for you, Marky! And I guess for you too, Roger."

Roger laughed softly. "Fuck you, Maureen," he said.

"You better not," teased Mimi.

"I'd like to see us go fifteen minutes without cracking a sex joke," Mark muttered.

"I think what Mark is saying," said Roger. "Is that he's in desperate need of some sex."

Mark put on his best glare. Unfortunately, it only elicited laughter from everyone around him.

Part of him minded the teasing. Part of him minded the loneliness. Those were the parts of him that resurfaced from before; they comprised the Mark that had been driven to D.C., desperate to start a new life away from this promise of solitude and impending death. The deeper part of him, however, still ached for the sound of laughter and the sight of smiles, and that longing was satisfied now. He found himself smiling and laughing along at his own expense.

"Does anyone want to see what I brought?" complained Maureen, raising her voice through the torrents of laughter.

Joanne toyed with Maureen's hair fondly, a huge smile still painted across her face as the joke died down. "Show us, honey."

The hideous bag produced massive amounts of alcohol. Maureen watched Mark smugly as she unveiled bottle after bottle, enjoying the shocked expression on his face.

"Speaking of sex…" said Roger.

Mimi smacked her boyfriend in the shoulder. The two of them fell into a conversation with Maureen and Joanne that Mark didn't hear. He was too busy watching the translucent bottles emerge…and feeling panic rise.

Now that he thought about it, those bottles contained another kind of slavery. Sure, he'd gotten drunk plenty of times without becoming an alcoholic like his father. But now he had memories of getting drunk and getting high…and could scarcely separate them. He didn't want this—not now, not yet.

Only Roger could register Mark's stare and read the filmmaker's mind. Mark gave his best friend a fleeting look, begging him to intervene. Their eyes only met for a few seconds, but Roger understood immediately. The songwriter raised his eyebrows questioningly and shook his head almost imperceptibly.

Mark gave a single, curt nod.

"Hey, Maureen," said Roger. "I'm pretty sure that the only thing as funny as Mark drunk is Collins drunk. Maybe we should hold off until he can be here with us? You can just leave it here, I _promise _we won't drink it without you." He gave Maureen a wink.

Maureen contemplated for a moment. "Ok," she said, her voice as bubbly as ever.

"Thanks for all this, though, Maureen," said Mark, relaxing. "When we all get drunk, I'll film Roger for you. That's always fun."

"I think everyone would rather see _you _drunk, Mark," Roger shot back.

"I think, Roger, that if we compare drunk moments, you would be king."

"How so? I seem to remember being blinded on several occasions by your glaring white nakedness as you attempted to go streaking…"

"Truth or dare, Roger. Ice cube. Need I say more?"

"Yeah, you might mention how on that occasion you called Maureen to tell her you were gay."

"You would seriously bring that up?! I turned that around on you! _You _turned out to be the gay one!"

"_You_ were!"

"You!"

"You!"

"Oh, for god's sake, will you two just make out already?" interjected Joanne.

Mimi looked from Roger to Mark. "I'm not sure I'd be ok with that," she said.

Roger draped his arm around Mimi and smirked at his best friend. "See? I have a protective girlfriend to shield me from your rampant homosexuality."

"I was talking about Mark," said Mimi coolly. "He just got through withdrawal, you know. Wouldn't want him to be scarred again."

The look on Roger's face got Mark laughing again, along with Mimi. It was a chain reaction, reaching to Maureen and then to Joanne and finally making its way back to Roger.

It took awhile for this bout to fade. When it did, Mimi stood, still hyperventilating.

"You guys are giving me a headache," she said. "I'm going to go jack some of your aspirin."

"We have aspirin?" wondered Mark aloud.

"Second drawer on my dresser," said Roger. "Mark was downing all the drugs this past week. I had to hide them."

"Asshole," grumbled Mark.

Mimi just grinned at Mark and gave Roger's hand a squeeze. Then, she walked away and eventually disappeared into Roger's room.

The atmosphere was altogether relaxed. A couple more sex jokes came up, as did some more gay jokes. Mostly, however, the conversation became quieter as the four remaining basked in each other's company.

Mark drank in every moment. He felt whole again. He felt human again.

He caught Roger looking at him. Mark looked back, and the two friends were once again in an isolated world. Small smiles of perfect understanding and happiness crept onto both faces.

Mark knew then, looking at Roger, that he would never again know the desolation and pain of being truly alone.

The sun was setting outside. The golden light, cast in hues of red and purple, bathed them all. No darkness resided here anymore. Mark had left it behind that last night, one week ago, when he fell asleep to the lull of Roger's and Collins's voices.

Mark eased back again into the familiar comfort of voices. The minutes passed and the moonlight drifted in, falling across the smile that touched his lips.

He was at peace. And, for this passing snapshot of time, he wasn't alone.

--

_A friend hears the song in my heart and sings it back to me when my memory fails._


	3. Chapter 3: Goodbye Love, Hello Disease

Chapter 3

"Goodbye Love, Hello Disease"

Mimi

It didn't take long for Mimi to find herself in Roger's room. Just a moment later, she found herself bent over Roger's trashcan, vomiting whatever was left in her thin body.

She hadn't needed an aspirin. She had needed to slip away and die.

Mimi raised her haunted eyes above the brim of the trashcan. She stared at the wall and let her forehead fall against it, followed by her body. She was weak with emptiness and exhaustion. She was heavy with lies.

Roger wasn't out looking for a gig, Roger was out because he needed time away from the loft, time to think, time to exhale.

Mark wasn't editing film in the other room, he was trying desperately to think of anything except his battle against the ache inside of him.

And Collins, after all, wasn't feeling "peaky".

Collins was in the hospital, and Collins was dying.

And Mimi?

Mimi herself was living just another lie.

She hadn't slept in three nights. She had left the loft weeks ago with the pretense that she was giving Mark and Roger time alone as Mark recovered, but in reality, she had been spending every night caring for Collins. Finally, today, when Collins had woken up sweating and pale with his eyes completely out of focus, she had called an ambulance.

She hadn't the heart to tell Roger and Mark what had happened yet. First Angel, now Collins.

Mimi wrapped her arms about her stomach. She didn't want to complete that list. She didn't want to add her own name to it, but she couldn't deny that it was printed there.

As Mimi lay there, head swimming, she closed her eyes and thought back to that Christmas Eve, the closest she had come to death. She should've died then.

_Reason says I should've died three years ago…_

Was she weak for wanting to tell Roger?

She wanted Roger's arms around her now, like they had been that night, but it was a selfish desire. Roger had just survived one encounter with death—the possibility of Mark's death. And now he was in the other room, starting to know happiness again. What kind of selfish bitch was she for wanting to take that away from him?

Mimi had lived her whole life with no one but herself. She had never seen herself as weak enough to require comfort, or protection. But now, as she shivered alone, she wanted to be weak. She wanted to just have someone take care of her. It would be so much easier if she didn't have to hold all of this inside.

But she couldn't do that to Roger. She couldn't be the weak one. He'd already had one weak girlfriend. And what had that given him?

Depression?

AIDS?

She wasn't about to be the second one to break his heart and ruin his life…if she had the choice…

"It's so dark here," whispered Mimi, her broken voice speaking to the wall through sobs. Sobs that didn't come with tears. Her body was too dry for tears; they didn't come anymore.

This morning, Collins had refused to let Mimi bring Mark and Roger to visit him. He hadn't wanted her to even mention that he was in the hospital—that he probably wouldn't be leaving. Part of Mimi understood that perfectly. But there was a deeper part, the part touched by the darkness, that was angered by it.

"This is just me," he'd said to her, smiling that broad smile of his even as he lay in agony. "Their story is bigger than me, girl. Let those two be happy. There don't seem to be happiness around anymore. Please, Mimi—don't tell them I'm here."

_But it isn't "just you", Collins. You're such a part of us. We aren't all glued together by the bond that Mark and Roger share—we're a real family. Each of us is everything. _

She'd promised. Then she'd made an excuse to leave the hospital room before her anger overwhelmed her and she said something she would've regretted.

Walking home was the worst part; the smell of death still clung to her hair and her hands. She couldn't escape from the specter of Collins, his words still echoing in her ears.

Would she make the same decision, if in his place?

She felt cold and dark. She was with a man she loved more than she had ever loved life, who loved her the same, and yet felt more lonely than ever. But she knew the answer was yes…

Here she was, making the exact same choice as Collins.

Who were Mark and Roger to shelter themselves in a secluded world? Yes, they'd been through hell over the past few weeks. But she had been through heroin addiction and withdrawal and survived. No one survived AIDS, though. No one. Maybe it was time to wake the two of them up. They were best friends, but they needed to see that there were other friends here, and those friends were slipping away.

"Mimi?"

Roger was standing in the doorway. His eyes met hers in a sweet kiss of longing.

Mimi forced a smile. "Hey."

"You okay?" he asked, and slid down on the floor so he could sit next to her.

She nodded.

She was biting her tongue, trying to keep back all the words that were spilling over her tongue, like blood from a cut in her cheek.

"Why are you on the floor, baby?" he asked, brushing the damp hair back from her eyes. "Mimi…you're pale, you look like death…"

_I am death. _

Mimi was about to let everything go; the touch of Roger's hand was so welcome, and she clung to it like a starved child. But then she saw it: a flash of weariness, dancing across Roger's eyes.

That tiny glint, saying, "Not this again…"

All of her apathy seized her up again. She pushed Roger's hand away—gently, but firmly. She turned to the chest of drawers by the trashcan. She opened the last one, the one by the floor.

"I thought that was where the aspirin was," she mumbled. "I was wrong."

Roger moved her aside as gently as he could, considering the panic in his mind. He looked into the drawer.

Mimi let her eyes drift to his fingers. She had been in a rush to empty her stomach; such a rush, in fact, that she hadn't quite made it to the trash can. Some of the remnants lingered on the corners of the wood.

Roger saw it and retracted his hand. He heaved a sigh and met Mimi's eyes.

There was such betrayal in his eyes. He slid the drawer closed hard enough to make the entire bureau shake.

She wanted him to hit her. It would be easier if he hit her, instead of staring at her with such hurt.

Then, it was as though a movie was playing out in his eyes. She watched as emotions drifted by. Hurt and betrayal gave way to anger, bitterness, quickly replaced by hopelessness and terror. Soon, the emotions were exhausted. There was just a soft, blue sadness—just emptiness.

"It's happening, isn't it?" he asked softly.

Mimi wanted so badly to drift into his embrace, but something held her back. Instead, she reached out and touched his hand. She nodded.

"Yeah, baby," she whispered. "It's happening."

"Collins?"

The look they shared served as her answer.

Roger shook his head slowly, his fingers limp in Mimi's. "I didn't see it coming. I didn't…I never…"

She breathed deep, stroking his hand. "We didn't want you to see."

"I can't believe it's happening."

Had she thought her body incapable of tears?

It proved her wrong now.

"It's happening, Roger. It's happening now. I'm so sorry…I love you so much, I'm sorry…"

He reached out and grabbed her fiercely, his strong arms encompassing every part of her. She melted into him, and they cried together.

Mimi would only cry once more in her life—a couple of days later, when they all sat around Collins's bed at the hospital and watched him drift away to meet his Angel.

--

THE END


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